


Still The Man You Trust

by Cheeky_The_Monkey



Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Angst, During Inevitable, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 11:53:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18249305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheeky_The_Monkey/pseuds/Cheeky_The_Monkey
Summary: It's not inevitable, Emma. Run. Please Emma, just run.Paul loses control of his body, and is forced to watch himself do the unthinkable.





	Still The Man You Trust

**Author's Note:**

> A request from Tumblr:  
> can you write something about half infected Paul and make it angsty as hell?
> 
> Want to request something? Use this link:  
> https://alittlesliceofcucumber.tumblr.com/post/183670126534/taking-starkid-requests

_“I don’t like musicals!”_

Paul ripped the pin out of the grenade and hurled it into the meteor.

Almost instantly, it exploded with light and heat and he was thrown back due to the blast. He heard the melodic screams of the infected as he crashed back down onto the ground, and he felt warm blood trickle out of his side. He turned his head to check his injury. His blood had a distinct blue tinge.

His stomach grumbled briefly, before he threw up all over the rubble in front of him. Even his own vomit was glowing blue.

And then he felt the spores. The air was thick with them, and every heavy breath he took allowed more of them to accumulate in his lungs. He began to wheeze hysterically...

Until he stopped. 

He wasn’t sure why the pain suddenly seemed to fade. He tilted his head downwards in order to look at his shirt. It was stained with patches of both dark crimson and a glowing azure. He felt nauseous, so he lifted his head to prevent himself from vomiting again.

Except he didn’t move.

He tried to move his head again, but it didn’t budge. Neither would his hands. He put all of his energy and effort into his right hand, and all it did was twitch slightly. Why couldn’t he move his own body?

His head lifted (without him trying) and Paul saw all of the infected people that had tortured him begin to scramble back onto their feet. Some were even missing limbs, but that didn’t stop them from stumbling through the large hole in the theatre that the grenade had created. Paul followed.

_No! I’m not one of them! I want to stay here! I want- Hell, I want to die! I’m not-_

He willed himself to stay. He begged himself to fall to the ground. He wished that he had died in the explosion.

But none of those things happened.

Paul watched helplessly as he became part of the musical mob that infested the streets of Hatchetfield, singing and dancing as they went.

* * *

“Oh my God! Paul, y-you made it!” 

Emma began to sob with relief in Paul’s arms. “We made it!”

Paul tried to pull away, but he knew it was hopeless.

_Emma no I didn’t make it-_  
Emma I’m sorry-  
Run away Emma-  
Emma run away from me-  
I’m not Paul anymore-  
Emma I’m sorry- 

_“Emma, I’m sorry”_

Paul felt a chill run up his own spine as he heard those dreadful words being sung out of his own mouth. “You lost.”

He watched in horror as Emma pulled back and looked up at him with a strange nervousness in her beautiful eyes. Eyes that used to look at him with an odd admiration, but now with terror.

“Paul?” She asked quietly, her smile beginning to fade. 

Paul wanted to scream. He tried to scream. The last thing he wanted was to be the cause of Emma losing her enchanting smile. He had very little control over his actions, but by God he was going to use that little control as much as he could.

_Emma, listen to me. I’m not Paul. I’m sorry Emma, but I’m one of them. Please run. Get out of here. Emma, I’m sorry._

_“Emma, I’m sorry you lost your way.”_

_NO-_

“Paul, you’re scaring me-”

All he managed to do was widen his own eyes as he began to drag Emma across the street in a dance of death. He wanted to stop. He was scaring her. He didn’t want to scare her.

He heard himself sing, telling her that he was happy now. He wasn’t.

Emma struggled against his grip, and desperately tried to break free and run. She knew what had happened. What she didn’t know was that Paul was trying to stop himself. He was trying to break free too.

_Don’t listen to him_  
Emma, I’m not me anymore  
He is infected  
I am not  
He’s the monster  
I’m still the man you trust 

_“I’m still the man you trust”_

Paul cringed when he heard his personal words be sung by the monster that he had become. 

Emma began to cry. “No, get away from me! You’re not Paul, you’re one of them!”

Tears started to form in Paul’s eyes, before trickling down his smiling face. He didn’t want to smile. He wanted to cry. More importantly, he wanted Emma to be safe. 

To his own surprise, he let go of Emma.

_This is your chance. Emma run now before I grab you again. Get to safety before I kill-_

Kill. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him before now. What if he killed Emma? No, that was impossible. He could never do such a thing. He would rather kill himself before he killed Emma.

_But you already did kill yourself, Paul. You killed yourself the moment you walked into that theater._

He screamed. Or at least, he wanted to. He yelled until his throat throbbed and his voice went hoarse. But he still hadn’t made a sound.

Except for the song that he was singing. He kept on telling her that it was inevitable for her to become infected.

_It’s not inevitable, Emma. Run. Please Emma, just run._

He saw the others dancing with him, surrounding her: Bill, Ted, Mr Davidson, the Professor. All of them keeping Emma from escaping. He never hated them more than in that moment, not even Ted.

They started a kickline. A kickline of all things. Except Paul was physically kicking Emma, who herself screamed hysterically.

_Stop you’re hurting Emma stop stop stop-_

He stopped. Paul relaxed for a moment.

It didn’t last long.

They all began to close in around Emma, with himself leading.

Paul wanted to close his eyes. He wished for all of it to have been a nightmare. For him to wake up and for Emma to be safe. Hell, he’d rather have never met Emma than for this to happen.

But no, his eyes widened instead as she fell to the ground. He watched helplessly as the concoction of goo and saliva dripped from his own mouth into hers. Tears rushed down his face more frequently as she coughed and spluttered, before becoming silent.

Emma was dead. Paul killed her.

He wanted to mourn. He wanted to kneel next to her and cry. But his legs picked himself up again, and he started to walk away against his will.

Emma’s body may be lifeless, but Paul’s soul was as good as dead.


End file.
